


Money Problems

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Black Cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-19
Updated: 2006-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 08:20:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1641113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A caper in brief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Money Problems

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to Keryn for the beta. So sorry to scribblemoose for not quite capturing her request the way I meant to, but I hope you like it anyway.
> 
> Written for scribblemoose

 

 

"We're out of cash."

It wasn't that this particular state of being was anything new. The life of a sweeper was either feast or famine, as Sven knew only too well. It was the reason for this particular state of affairs that Sven found particularly galling. They had flubbed not one, not even two, but _three_ captures that, had they made all of them, would have netted them a grand total of fifteen million dollars, a far cry from where their current financial situation was.

Sven might have been able to sigh and deal with the entire situation had it merely been a fluke, a streak of bad luck. However, it had been abject negligence that had lead them to this particular situation. Miscommunication between partners, misreading the time tables at the train station, all of those were issues that shouldn't have occurred. Negligence was definitely the worst thing for a sweeper to do. Definitely.

He heard the distinctive metallic tings as Train emptied their money pouch onto the bedspread. The small collection of coins on the bed did not bode well, and Train confirmed it after he had counted it out. "We have fifty-six cents and a casino chip."

Brilliant, thought Sven. They couldn't even afford breakfast, and the loud protestations of his stomach indicated his stomach's unhappiness at that prospect. They needed a job, any job. Even just capturing a small fry or two would replenish their lamentably bare coffers until they hit it big with a million dollar criminal. If nothing else, they would be able to eat, or evenst pay off their hotel bill.

"We need a job." Yes, it was stating the obvious, but with Train, one needed to be sure. The boy had a rather different idea about what was important and what wasn't.

"Why're you so worried, Sven? I'm sure we'll get a job... After breakfast, of course."

"Breakfast?" Sven glanced up from the intricacies of the mechanism he was installing into his briefcase. "We can't afford breakfast."

Train stretched, a wide grin on his face, "Not right now, which is why I charged it to our room. You know, room service."

" _What?!_ " Sven spun around in his seat, almost dumping the briefcase, half-installed upgrades and all, onto the floor. "How can you be so carefree about something like this?"

Train headed for the door, a careless grin splitting his face. "Don't worry so much, Sven. You'll get wrinkles. Besides, how can we be expected to perform at our best when the only thing we can think of is food? Everything will work out in the end. It always does."

\------

_Easier said than done_ , Sven had thought at breakfast. He still stood by his words. Train had always been overconfident. Try though he might, he still hadn't been able to beat some semblance of rationality and common sense into the independent little cat.

He looked around the hotel ballroom, turning more with his body than his head to compensate for the blindspot of his other eye. The large room, so bare just the week before, had been transformed into a miniature museum, a very expensive and luxurious museum. Scattered artistically around were priceless displays of ancient weaponry. There were Bronze age short swords, ancient Chinese burial armour hand carved entirely out of jade, even spears from some African tribe whose name he could not pronounce. All these were kept behind velvet ropes and in glass cases, and as if all those precautions (and the high-tech all but invisible security system) weren't enough, there was a roomful of discreetly-armed, tuxedo-clad security guards on patrol.

The tuxedoes were mostly for the security guards to blend more effectively with the black-tie glitterati currently swirling around the ballroom floor, the men all in tailored tuxes, the women in sequined gowns. It was the cream of society, gathered together at a five star hotel to sip champagne and nibble on expensive hor d'oeuvres while admiring the collection of a drug lord who also just happened to be the CEO of a large shipping conglomerate.

Sven circulated, unobtrusively slipping between the little knots of people gathered around each display. A gentlemanly smile was bestowed upon the occasional female, but his mind was firmly on the job that needed to be done tonight. _Remember, Train_ , he thought. _You must intercept him before he reaches the ballroom_.

Train wouldn't mess up this time, Sven was sure. He had a good memory when it came to important things like these, particularly when there were so many innocent civilians between them and their target. If they managed to corner him before he entered the ballroom, victory was theirs. Hypothetically speaking. All he needed to do was to make sure he was at the entrance of the ballroom at exactly 7:47pm with his briefcase at the ready to cause a diversion--

\--and then his ear piece crackled. "Sven... our target's just arrived and guess who his date is."

A sick feeling curled up and tucked itself comfortably in the pit of Sven's stomach. "Is this going to disrupt our plan?"

"Rins."

Sven groaned. The last time they had taken out one of Rinslet Walker's erstwhile "dates", she had demanded compensation for being unable to complete _her_ job. Her price had been inexcusably high, and she had been very, very insistent. Even after some hard bargaining on their part, her cut had been exactly fifty percent of _their_ take. Train and Sven had thought carefully about interrupting Rins on a date of any kind after that.

Their target, the portly shipping magnate, strode into the room, and Sven spotted the unexpected interruption in their flawless plan clinging familiarly to his arm. Rinslet Walker. Why did she always pick the worst times to interrupt their catch? Sven recognised her even under the flamboyant red wig she was currently sporting. The blinding turquoise sequinned gown she was wearing was not made for hiding in corner either. He had to grudgingly admit that no matter what she did, Rins did it with panache.

Last they had heard, she was still working as a Thief-for-Hire, and a very good one at that. If she was here, there was no way she was coming just to admire the ancient relics or to adorn the arm of a very wealthy client. No, Rins had little appreciation for history and even less for portly, balding men, unless she was being paid well to appreciate either. She was definitely here on a job, and she could jeopardise his and Train's plan of action.

They made eye contact as she sashayed past, so it didn't surprise Sven when she came up next to him a couple hours later, sans rotund companion. He was admiring a rather well-protected bronze blade from an unpronounceable era, his one good eye trained on their target networking his way around the ballroom like a pro.

"Fancy seeing you here," she said, though her tone of voice indicated anything but surprise.

"What are you doing here?" asked Sven, resigned.

"I was thinking... we could work together."

Sven cocked an eyebrow, and she started speaking quickly. "Look, I need a distraction to get what I want. You'll get your chance to corner him just before midnight, that's when he'll leave."

"You'll let us capture your client? The last time you hosed us for $20 million because you weren't getting paid!"

"Oh, he's not my client, just my date."

Sven blinked.

"I needed a legitimate way into the party. I wasn't about to gatecrash it the way you and Train always do." She gathered her glittering wrap snugly around her body. "Now, look, this is what I suggest."

\------

The whole plan went off without a hitch until Sven underestimated their captive and he escaped. They ended up chasing him through the rain in the dark city streets. They caught him in the end, and deposited him safely to the police, but that was six hours later, and they were soaked through by then.

"I told you we'd be able to pay off the hotel bill," Train informed Sven the next morning over breakfast. They were seated at a little out of the way cafe, Sven with a cup of cappuchino and a plate of crepes, Train with a croissant and a glass of milk. "The bounty on that guy more than made up for the other three we missed, and Rins even gave us $5 million for helping us steal that sword."

Sven, however, wasn't listening. Wordlessly, he flipped over the newspaper he was reading to show Train the front page. The headlines that morning: "$100 Million Dollar Sword Stolen". Right underneath the words was a picture of the bronze sword they had helped Rins steal the previous night.

 


End file.
